


Keepsake.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Also some miillldd angst., Boys being idiots and in love., Devotion, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: There's something that has been bothering John for a while, Harold can tell. And while he is prepared to give him anything- even if it means letting him go- John's request takes him a little off guard.





	Keepsake.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MnemonicMadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/gifts).



> Because she prompted me: "I want you to have this." from the [One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I Love You’](http://michaelssw0rd.tumblr.com/post/159569758473/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you) post.
> 
> I hope you like this.

Harold can still feel John’s presence in the room. The man is silent like panther, even his breath barely makes any noise, but Harold has been able to detect his proximity for quite a while now. It is unmistakable in the absence of the vacuum he leaves behind when he isn’t around; both in the library, and in Finch’s heart.

So, he doesn’t have to turn around to know John is here… lingering. There’s a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that tells him that John is also watching him. He waits him out, letting him make up his mind. He doesn’t want to push Reese into doing something he isn’t ready for.

It’s not the first time this week John has acted this way, like there’s something weighing on his mind. Harold has caught him looking at him like trying to decipher a puzzle maybe. There’s something he wants to say, or do, and is finding the leap of faith hard. Harold wants to help, wants to reach out and touch his hand and ask him “tell me.” And just like that, he knows John will.

But it seems important to John. So he lets him take his time. He keeps typing on the laptop unseeingly, all the while aware that John has paused on the doorway. It feels like a breaking point, John’s gathering resolve palpable in the air. Harold does not realize he is holding his breath until he hears John sigh. His shoulder tense and the air leaves his lungs in a huff.

“Harold,” John says after a long pause.

“Mr. Reese.” Harold tries not to let the apprehension show in his voice. Whatever John wants to say can’t be good if it testing his resolve quite so much.

He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to pay attention to voice that’s saying that maybe John has had enough. Maybe he wants more from his life than a broken man and his endless mission.

So he keeps his fingers poised on the keyboard, and his lungs empty to suck in the air, hoping it would fill in the void that would result if John left. Waiting.

John stays in the doorway for another few moments and then Harold hears his quiet footsteps coming closer. He closes his eyes. Telling himself to stop being a coward, he braces himself and turns around on his revolving chair. It still takes him a few moments to be brave enough to look up and see John’s face.

It’s not what he is expecting. There’s no remorse written on it, no apologies. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a tentative hope, and Harold suddenly aches to give him whatever it is that he desires.

Harold should’ve known John would defy his expectations. He always does. Goes above and beyond what Harold can even dream of, every time. So while Harold is prepared to give him everything- even if it means letting him go- what John does instead is say,

“I want you to have this.”

Harold blinks in astonishment. John has his fist clenched in front of him, holding something. Confused, he looks between it and John’s face. There’s a teasing smile on his face, smirk actually, at catching Harold off-guard and the familiarity of it feels like a déjà vu.

“Mr. Reese?”

John huffs in fondness, and reaches out with his other hand, the one not holding whatever it is he wants Harold to have, and touches the back of Harold’s hand, delicately. He reaches upwards, until his fingers are wrapped around his wrist, pressing into his pulse point- can he feels how fast Harold’s heart is beating, and how at odds it is with his enforced calm. Gently, he tugs, and pulls his hand away from where it’s clenched on the arm rests. Huh. Harold had not even realized that. He would’ve felt more embarrassed by the show of weakness, but it’s a distant thought. John never considered him less for his shortcomings anyway.

Harold deliberately relaxes, letting his arm be lax, allowing John to pull it up. His touch his warm, and soft; so soft. He carefully turns his hand once it’s outstretched, palm up now, his own palm cupping it, and brings his closed fist over. Looking Harold in the eye, and not even trying to pull up a mask, trying to hide what this means, he places something on his palm and then pushes his fingers to close around it.

It feels like metal, a chain and plates, skin warm.

Harold knows, with a sudden certainty, what this is. He gapes at John, and sees him duck his head, shyly.

“Mr. Reese,” he starts, but no, that’s not the right name for the something like this. Not when John is offering what Harold suspects, “John.”

“It belongs to you.” John looks so sure, that Harold has to look away.

He looks at his hand instead, opening it. John withdraws, takes a step back and lets Harold process it. Harold was right. There, in the middle of his palm, are lying two steel plates, silver and engraved, threaded in a beaded chain of metal. John is giving him his dog tags.

“I can’t possibly accept that.” Harold looks at John, bewildered. Does John even have any idea what this means? He hates the way John flinches in response, the way he tries to hide the hurt. That’s not what he meant. “John. This… this is… you.” John just nods at that, so Harold shakes his head and tries again. “This is your identity, your past, everything you were.”

“Yes,” John says simply.

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s exactly what you said… my past. It is…” and there is a twitching of John’s lips. A ghost of a smile. “Irrelevant.”

Something in his expressions, maybe the desperate plea for help, for understanding, makes John crouch down and settle on his knees, and holding Harold’s hand with the dog tags still on it. Harold desperately clutches it, finding an anchor.

“Harold,” John sighs, closing his eyes for a second, as if he is happy where he is, content. “When you found me… this was all I had. A souvenir from the time when I was doing something I believed in. A hazy recollection of a good man… something I couldn’t identify with anymore, but desperately clung to the memory of. So I kept them, as a reminder. Or as a punishment. I am not sure which.”

John looks down, hiding. Harold aches to make him feel better, so he reaches out and runs his fingers through John’s hair, petting him. John looks up at him again, and there is an ocean of emotion in his eyes, that is beckoning Harold to jump, to drown.

“Why don’t you want it anymore?” Harold asks, trying to understand.

“Because you found me.” John says simply, and then places his forehead on Harold’s thigh. Harold thinks this is the end of conversation, and it’s enough. He understands enough. It still feels like too immense an offering, but John wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t sure. But then, John continues, in a small voice. “I don’t need to hang on the memory anymore. I have you, to remind me.”

“John.” He tugs at the hair, but John resists, shaking his head.

“You have given me everything Harold. A home, a job, a purpose. You also gave me something I didn’t even know I was looking for: redemption. But this, this is the only thing that has always been mine.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t give it away,” Harold insists.

“Which is why I want to give it to you,” John whispers instead, then looks up at Harold. “It’s the only thing I can.”

Harold is speechless, the way he rarely is. The generosity of the man kneeling in front of him, the vastness of his heart, blows him away.

“Will you keep it?” he asks, as if it would be Harold doing him a favor.

The thought is so utterly ridiculous that Harold doesn’t bother answering it. Instead, he pulls his hand away from John’s, startling him. There’s a look of despair on his face that is frankly insulting, but Harold ignores it in favor of loosening his tie, and opening his collar. He wears the tags, slinging the chain around his neck and letting the metal settle against the skin of his chest. Irrationally, he thinks he can feel the name inscribed on the metal-John’s real name. It feels like a brand, searing into his skin, and marking him permanently. He looks at John then, as if daring him to argue.

John just looks back at him in awe.

“Yes,” Harold declares, and it sounds more. It sounds like a vow to keep more than just the tags.

“Thank you.” The way he says it, let’s Harold know that John understands what he is promising.

Because John has offered him his heart, and Harold plans to cherish it, protect it and keep it right next to his own.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really long winding way of saying a really simple thing... but it got away from me. I was hoping to chop lots of bits from it... but Leena just went "NO. DON'T YOU DARE." So here we are. I hope you all enjoy it. ♥


End file.
